


Hometown Heroes

by foxcatcher



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Anal Sex, Anger, Bukkake, Come Sharing, Community: wrestlingkink, Filthy, Gallus - Freeform, Grizzled Young Veterans, Hate Sex, Humiliation, I Don't Even Know, I am so sorry, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, NXT Takeover: Cardiff, Nipple Play, Prompt Fill, Rare Characters, Rare Pairings, Rough Sex, Secret Crush, South Wales Subculture, This is Beyond Filth, Threesome - M/M/M, WWE NXT UK - Freeform, Weirdly Sappy Towards the End
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 13:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20528600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxcatcher/pseuds/foxcatcher
Summary: Hindsight is, as they say, 20/20, and looking back, Flash could see that it had been a mediocre idea at best to agree to this. In fact, it had been a terrible idea-The aftermath of the three-way tag at NXT Takeover: Cardiff. (Minor update 11/10/19)





	Hometown Heroes

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I am so sorry. This takes place immediately after the three-way tag match at NXT Takeover: Cardiff, so some spoilers for that match. It's also pure filth. And first time for a lot of those character/relationship tags.
> 
> Prompt fill for this prompt at the kinkmeme, which wanted Gallus and the Vets teaming up to gang up on Mark and Flash, with bonus points for bukkake, and I combined it with their banger of a Takeover match - https://wrestlingkink2.dreamwidth.org/423.html?thread=668583#cmt668583.  
It does veer into slightly dub-con territory, especially at the end, but rest assured everyone is on the same page.
> 
> It's written mostly from Flash's POV, which I know might not be everyone's cup of tea, but I have a massive soft spot for the Modfather and find the lack of content including him terribly sad.

Hindsight is, as they say, 20/20, and looking back, Flash could see that it had been a mediocre idea at best to agree to this. In fact, it had been a terrible idea. They had stumbled backstage after their win, Flash grinning like an idiot as Mark half hugged, half dragged him away from the curtains, when a familiar voice had stopped them.

“Well, aren’t you just precious.”

The pair had turned to see James Drake glaring at them, his voice dripping with sarcasm, flanked by Gallus and the other half of the Grizzled Young Veterans.

“Congratulations on your win, _champs_,” Gibson had sneered next to him, letting the Welshmen know exactly what he thought of their victory. But Flash and Mark were too happy, too high on the match and the win to consider the threat of a post-match beatdown, or the fact that they were outnumbered two to one, or even notice the nasty glint in the other men’s eyes. “Seeing as you decided to insert yourselves into it, I’m sure you know how three-way tag matches work here.”

“…what?” Flash had the feeling that he was missing something, his smile faltering a little as he watched Gibson’s widen. Besides him, Mark gave a confused half-noise.

“Oh, it’s very simple,” the Scouser had continued. “Something of a tradition.”

“You get the belts,” Wolfgang this time, speaking up before Coffey finished the sentence, grinning at them.

“And we get you.”

A terrible, no good idea.

-

They were… somewhere. Flash’s head had been reeling too much from everything to really pay attention as they were dragged off, too out of it to even be properly on edge, but he was pretty sure they were still in the arena. Maybe one of the dressing rooms? He guessed it was possible one of the fancier ones had a bed in it, although it was getting difficult to think about much at all when he had three (?!) impossibly thick Scottish fingers inside him.

There seemed to be hands everywhere – one keeping his hips up; a heavy palm between his shoulder blades, not so much holding him down as reminding him who was in charge; another petting through his hair, mock-gentle. He was almost insulted that they hadn’t seen the need to restrain his arms, although he doubted he could do much now, even if he wanted to. Once they had got to wherever it was they were, pushed through the door with their belts still thrown over their shoulders, the instructions had been sparse, but clear – tap out if you give up; no permanent injuries; no defiling the belts. Other than that, Mark and Flash were at the mercy of the others for the remainder of the evening. The winners paying the price.

After that, things had moved pretty quickly.

Flash groaned as Coffey pressed his fingers in harder, crowding him, stretching him in a way that made his breath catch. He was half-hard already, and the mod was briefly thankful that they’d put him on his stomach, even if it didn’t really help his predicament – caught between Coffey’s fingers and the rough-smooth fabric of the sheets, rubbing against his chest, almost close enough to grind into.

If he lifted his head, Flash could just about see Mark. Or, rather, he could see his back – Drake and Wolfgang hadn’t quite made it to the other bed with his teammate, who was on his knees, hands clasped behind his back as the two men took turns fucking his throat. They’d definitely done it on purpose, placing him so he could see Mark – much like they had draped the belts over a nearby chair where they could gleam down at their new champs, still with the old side-plates on – but even if they hadn’t, the sounds were unmistakable, wet and obscene. Flash’s throat ached in sympathy.

“O-_oh_ –“

If Flash had thought Coffey’s fingers were thick, his cock was on a whole different level. He felt so full he thought he could feel it in his chest, struggling to breathe from the sheer intensity as the Scot slid into him. Coffey wasted no time once he’d bottomed out either, setting a rough pace of short, smacking thrusts that made Flash’s eyes cross – in no time, he was biting at the sheets, his fingers, his arm to keep his voice down, feeling himself redden from exertion and embarrassment. He only hoped Mark still had his back towards him – he didn’t want his friend to see him like this, head down and chest low against the bed, clutching at the covers while a large Scottish man gave his prostate a run for its money. The hands were back at him too. Coffey’s fingers curled around his left wrist, pulling until his arm was straight and using it to drive himself deeper into the mod. 

Flash could feel his palm tingling with the urge to tap out. Everything was walking the knife’s edge of too much, his toes curling with it, but he’d be fucked it they were losing this. Not right after their big win, and certainly not to these dickheads. Flash was no idiot. He didn’t believe a word of Gibson’s bullshit about traditions and whatnot; he knew what this was – but he also prided himself in never stepping down from a challenge when he was given one. And there had been definite challenge in Gibson’s eyes.

As if on cue, there were fingers in his hair, pulling his head up none too gentle until he met Zack Gibson’s sneering face.

“What happened in that match was a fluke,” the bald man spat out, the hand on his head vice-like.

“A match you weren’t supposed to be part of,” Coffey added, just a touch salty, punctuating it with a stinging slap to Flash’s arse. Flash let out a keening sound.

_Of course I had to get the gobby ones_, he thought and grit his teeth. At the other side of the room, Drake and Wolfgang seemed to have got rather more done – he could just about see the pair behind Zack, holding Mark up between them in a pretty impressive display of strength, Wolfgang doing most of the heavy lifting while Drake fucked into his teammate. Flash guessed it was true that nothing united people like a common enemy. It was almost heart-warming.

From his angle, he couldn’t see Mark’s face, hidden behind Drake’s hair, but he could hear the odd gasp or groan or sharp yelp as the man bit at his neck, Wolfgang forcing his legs further apart.

The hand in his hair tightened, sending sparks of pain across his scalp and dragging his focus back to Gibson and Coffey.

“Thinking about tapping out, eh, Webster?” Zack smirked at him, before pulling him towards him, pressing Flash’s face into his crotch. “Don’t think for a moment you’re going to keep those belts for long,” he continued, rubbing the outline of his erection against Flash’s thin lips. Gibson still had his trunks on, making him by far the closest to fully dressed of the six, and the fabric scratched against the mod’s cheek. “And when you drop them, we’ll be there to grind your faces into it. That’s a promise.”

Flash tried to scowl up at the tall Scouse, but to little avail. He couldn’t imagine he looked especially intimidating like this – sweaty and exhausted, his fringe clinging to his forehead, fucked stupid by Coffey, who showed no sign of slowing down. If anything, Gibson seemed to find his attempt adorable, patting his cheek condescendingly as Flash bit back another moan. It was getting harder and harder to keep his balance like this, all his weight on one wobbly arm while Coffey drove himself into him, neck cramping from the awkward angle Gibson had him in. A particularly well-aimed thrust forced a rough sound out of him, his mouth wet against Gibson’s trunks, and Flash watched with half-lidded eyes as the man’s sneer turn dark and ugly. With no warning, he let go of Flash’s head and the mod dropped to the bed, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow in an attempt to keep his voice down.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. It was too much. He could feel something tighten inside him, his back arching mindlessly. Every thrust drove him into the bed, grinding his dick into the mattress – if Coffey kept it up, he was going to come without a single hand on him, he could feel it, closer and clos-

Just as Flash thought he was about to thoroughly humiliate himself, Coffey stopped.

He almost wanted to protest when the Scot pulled out, wincing at the sensation, before he was unceremoniously flipped over and found himself staring up at Gibson and Coffey’s smug faces.

“You look good on your back, Webster,” Coffey smirked down at him, barely winded. “Should spend more time there.”

The bastard. Flash couldn’t to imagine what he had to look like, flushed a mottled red down to his chest and arms, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach. Just as unceremoniously, Gibson grabbed his ankles and pulled him towards the edge of the mattress, knees pushed up as the man entered him in one smooth stroke. Flash let out a shaky moan as Gibson began to move, wishing he could hide his face, but as soon as he made a move, Coffey was at his head, holding his arms down with a single firm hand. The burly man even had the audacity to _tut_ at him, before giving a sharp pinch to one of Flash’s nipples.

Flash yelped, tightening instinctively around Zack’s length.

“Ah, shit, do it again,” the Scouse groaned, and Coffey was only too happy to oblige. And oblige again. And again. Flash gasped, squirming against the Scot’s grip on his arms, but there was no budging. Biting his lip, he turned his head to the side, eyes searching for Mark in the hope that the familiar sight of his teammate might help distract him while Coffey assaulted his chest. In a way, it did. Flash couldn’t look away – Drake and Wolfgang had Mark bent over the edge of the bed, Drake keeping his mouth busy while Wolfgang hammered into him. And Mark was… Flash didn’t know the right words, staring at the soft curve of the man’s back, the sheen on his skin, they way his knees would knock against the mattress with every thrust.

There was a flick, followed by another pinch, sharp enough to make Flash arch up from the mattress - and then there were fingers around his neck, Gibson wrapping his hand around his throat. 

Flash’s heart pounded in his chest. He looked up at Zack’s dark eyes and the arm braced against his throat – not squeezing, but not quite _not_ squeezing either. Just enough so Flash could feel the sickly pressure against his Adam’s apple every time he swallowed.

“Focus, Webster,” Coffey said above him, and there was something in his expression, like he knew exactly what Flash had been thinking.

-

Flash felt like he’d been wrung out as he slumped to the floor, back against the bed. Mark was next to him, dead weight against his shoulder, sticky with sweat. The others stood around them, close enough to make Flash just a tad claustrophobic, although that could’ve been because of the dicks. No, it was almost definitely because of the dicks. He knew what they were planning, staring with trepidation as they stroked themselves, much, much too close for Flash’s comfort. All he could hope was that they weren’t going after Mark.

There was a hand in his hair again, pulling his head back so he was forced to look up at the four.

“I guess you’re the lucky one, aren’t you? Getting the pin.” Gibson’s grin was hardly a grin anymore, just an angry, bitter grimace. “It’s only fair you get this as well.”

Someone chuckled, the sound of it hollow. Flash swallowed thickly as the men shuffled closer to him. He could feel Mark’s fingers brush against his own, anchoring him, like he was trying to tell him that it was fine, just relax, nearly there.

“Open your mouth.”

Ah. Shit. When he hesitated, the hand in his hair tightened, tugging until his eyes watered.

“Do it or Mark takes your place,” Drake barked at him, and Flash could feel Mark stir next to him, getting ready to sacrifice himself, and that simply wouldn’t do. He couldn’t do that to his friend. With a quick squeeze to Marks’ hand and a look he hoped was reassuring and not as stomach-churningly nervous as he felt, Flash closed his eyes and did as he was told.

The first warm splatter against his skin came as a surprise, making him flinch, followed by another, and another – stripe after stripe of hot cum painting the mod’s face, his cheeks, the sharp bridge of his nose, drops of it catching on his eyelashes, dripping onto his chest.

“Look at me.”

Gibson’s hand was at his jaw, digging in until Flash opened his eyes.

“Look at me,” the Scouse hissed again, his breathing going ragged. Stroking himself rapidly, he pressed his thumb down on Flash’s teeth, holding the mod’s mouth open as he came in heavy spurts across his tongue, his eyes burning into Flash’s.

Once they were finished, the men stepped back, like they wanted to admire their handiwork or something. Flash sat very still, the back of his head resting against the edge of the mattress. He thought he might actually be ill, the slick taste of cum at the back of his throat, and wouldn’t that just be the cherry on top of the whole sad cake. At least he wasn’t hard anymore, he thought to himself. And he hadn’t cried. Or tapped out. Small comforts.

Avoiding looking at anyone, and especially not at Mark, Flash slouched forward, stretching out a hand towards the pile of clothes by the foot of the bed, only to be stopped dead in his tracks.

“Oh, you’re no done yet, Flashie. Poor Mark must be feeling all left out here.” He could hear the satisfaction in Coffey’s voice as the Scot continued. “Why don’t you give us a wee show? A wee kiss, and we’ll call it a day.”

Flash looked at Mark, feeling the nausea rise again.

Shit. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Because… because Mark was kind and funny and brilliant and he understood Flash better than anyone else, so much so that they sometimes didn’t even need to look at each other before they were flying over the ropes in perfect tandem, and Mark had big blue eyes and bright smile and, ok, Flash had thought about kissing him more than once. And when he felt really brave, he’d thought about Mark maybe, just maybe, wanting to kiss him back.

Not like this, though. 

When he allowed himself to think about it long enough, he'd always imagined it would happen after a big win, on top of the world with the crowd roaring around them. It had taken a lot to stop himself from doing anything stupid once he’d realised they had won the belts. Or perhaps something more sappy – the two of them leaning against his moped, close enough to touch, having stopped by the road to watch the sun set, and Flash could reach over to lace their fingers together on the warm leather seat all romantic like, and finally tell Mark exactly how he felt about him. 

Not here, with four pairs of gleeful eyes on them, naked and sore and covered in more semen than he ever cared to see again in his life. Not when Mark was looking at him with that wide, hesitant look in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Mark,” Flash said dejectedly. The last thing he wanted was for Mark to touch him in the state he was in. All he wanted was to go home and shower until he felt human again and pretend like none of this ever happened so he could celebrate the titles properly with his best friend, his feelings safely tucked away where they belonged. But Coffey was still leering at them, giving the mod a not-so-subtle ‘go on’ with a jerk of his head.

“You don’t have to do anything, ok?” Flash muttered under his breath, before he leant forward and placed a quick peck near the corner of Mark’s mouth. Which the other men seemed to find absolutely hilarious, cackling at the pair – and, honestly, it kind of was, the ludicrous contrast between the chaste kiss and everything else.

Flash pulled back slowly, his eyes squeezed shut. It was childish, but he didn’t want to see the look on Marks’ face, the disgust and disappointment and pity he knew he’d find there. Not yet. If he just kept his eyes closed, they could pretend he hadn’t done it. But suddenly, there were hands on his face, pulling him in for a deep kiss.

Flash made a startled sound as Mark licked into his mouth, his hands pawing at his teammate until he had one hand on Mark’s thigh, the other holding onto his forearm, anchoring himself. Somewhere outside them, he could hear the others jeering, but it didn’t matter, because _Mark was kissing him_ – and kissing him like he’d been waiting to do so, with big, greedy swipes of his tongue against Flash’s, making the mod whimper into his mouth, his hand tightening on Mark’s thigh. There was cum everywhere, coating their tongues, their lips, unspeakable filthy and hotter than it had any right to be. Flash felt dizzy with it.

Mark gave a final lick to Flash’s lips before he pulled back, a string of spit or something else stretching between their lips. Flash leant against his teammate, forehead to forehead, Mark’s palm hot on Flash’s neck as they panted in each other’s air.

He felt lightheaded, trying to wrap his head around everything – but when he looked up at Mark, all he saw was his best friend, smiling brightly at him, just as flushed and breathless as he was. And he remembered how it had felt right after the bell had rung, standing by Mark’s side in the ring, the crowd roaring around them. How Mark had pulled him over Gibson for the pin. He smiled back at Mark, thumb stroking against his arm.

Maybe it had worked out just fine after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this ridiculous little thing. Kudos and comments are always appreciated.
> 
> And most importantly: SWS WON THE TAG TITLES!!


End file.
